Another memory. Eight years later. A tedious lecture from Instructor Rhama on the alleged causes of the Great Revolt. Zennia’s tan arm snaking into the air. “Is it true we used to call ourselves Tidespeakers, sir?”
Rhama staring at her. “Where did you hear that?”
“A book at a house my family visited. If it’s true, why did they change our name, sir?”
Rhama’s eyes on her back as she left the classroom, bound for a stretch in the Confinement Locker.
I blinked at the ceiling, tears blurring my vision. It was clear I wouldn’t be getting any more sleep, so I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on my work clothes, and slipped out into the predawn chill.
The scent of tea herbs hung around the tower door. Tigo must be up already, though I’d heard no shuffles or pots clinking in his room. I was glad it was quiet. After my forays to the Veil and a full week of attending to the Cormorants and the Shearwaters, I was strung out, drained by the constant need to perform. All I wanted was to be alone.
I trailed down the dirt path that led to the cove, past dwarf gorse and heather and hillocks dusted with sand. Gulls skimmed by on the air currents above me. All was shadowed; the sky bloomed lilac like a bruise.
I’d half planned to scramble down to the water to practice. Archwater was a dark, heavy presence in my mind, sitting just out of sight, yet sidling ever nearer. But as I approached the boulders that markedthe start of the steep path, I caught a low laugh, the murmur of voices below me.
Dropping down, I peered around the edge of a rock and saw them clearly, despite the dimness: the backs of a fiery-red head and a blond one, standing out starkly against the gray-black cliffs.
One was Rhianne; that hair was unmistakable. And the other…For a wild moment, I thought it was Kielty, my half-formed dreams still lurking in my mind. But the figure was too short, too wide-framed. It was Catua. They sat on a rock ledge, close together. Both clutched near-empty cups of tea.
Rhianne muttered something, and Catua laughed, leaning sideways, bumping the older girl with her shoulder. Their heads turned, and I saw their lips meet briefly.
A needle of static shot right through me. Heart drumming, I shrank back, pressed my spine against the boulder. I thought of Rhianne’s pink cheeks after my “test,” her rapid defense of the youngest Shearwater, denying her part in it.
After the shock came a creeping cold. Here it was already: a skeleton in the closet.
Catua Shearwater, daughter of Rexim, in a secret relationship with an Orha servant. The Hundred only married within the Hundred. Liaisons with a commoner were a very great scandal. Liaisons with an Orha were something else: unthinkable.
This was just what Kielty had asked for. But could I use it? The cold stabbed deeper. Catua and Rhianne had been nothing but kind to me. I’d even begun to think of Rhianne as a friend. Would I really betray them to fulfill my bargain? And if I did, how, exactly, could I give the Cage proof?
I glanced back down at the pair again. They’d finished their tea and set aside their empty cups. They swung their legs out over thebubbling surf. They kissed again, lightly teased each other. Catua stretched and gazed up at the circling shearwaters.
Eventually they clambered stiffly to their feet, and I tensed, ready to flee should they both come this way. But instead, Catua headed left, taking a low track that wound north to the castle. Rhianne began the hike up to the boulders, toward me, but rather than running, I moved ten paces or so back.
The Sparkmouth was smiling faintly to herself as she crested the ridge, her eyes on the path. When she finally glanced up—saw me standing there, arms folded—her face turned bone white, each freckle standing out.
For a few long seconds, we faced off, silent. Then her shoulders drooped, her gaze lowered, and she trudged toward me, cloak trailing in the mud.
“You won’t say anything,” she said as she reached me, her brown eyes pleading. “You can’t tellhim.”
“I won’t,” I replied. It was technically true. Even if I did end up leveraging this secret, it wouldn’t bemewho’d reveal all to Rexim…“But”—I searched her face—“aren’t you scared?”
It was Rhianne, of course, who would be viciously punished. Catua might be confined to her room, have her allowance cut off, but she wouldn’t be banished. Wouldn’t be sent back to the mainland in disgrace, to a workhouse or maybe a cell, if Rexim could swing it.
Rhianne shrugged unhappily. “What are we supposed to do? Live side by side here and just ignore how we feel?” She began to traipse back to the Orha’s tower. “We tried that at first. It…didn’t work out.”
I paused, a new thought nagging at me.
“I know Catua’s interested in Orha rights,” I ventured, jogging after her. “Is there more to it than that?”
Rhianne frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just…” My skin tingled; I was skirting too close. “She challenges the others. Says we should follow Breova. Do you think she’s in contact with…anyone radical?”
Rhianne looked shocked. “If you mean who I think you mean…Moons, no. She would have told me. I know she wants some of the same thingstheydo. So do I, I suppose.” She shot me a nervous glance. “But she always says big change has to happen slowly. Through the Chamber. Through sympathetic Regents like Finch.
“And the Cage…well,” Rhianne continued, “they want things to happen far more quickly than that. And the only way to do that”—her face twisted—“is to hurt people. Catua would never want anyone to get hurt.”
I blinked, staring intently at the path, hoping my features gave nothing away.
